Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Chapter 3: Eyes

July 7th, 2500

They say that the eyes are windows to the soul.

I say that there is no such thing as a soul.

Or, at least, not one detectable by human standards.

You can tell a lot about a person through their eyes. You can also tell a lot about a person by the way they dress. I suppose that seems shallow -- and maybe it is -- but you really can learn quite a bit about a person from their clothing. Are they dressed simply but elegantly? Shabbily? In an obvious attempt to impress? With a little practice, it's very easy to judge a person accurately with one sweeping gaze.

On Guinevere's twenty second birthday, she was wearing the Government issued pants and shirt -- although it was buttoned up one more button than usual -- and her shoes were clearly laced with more concern for neatness than usual. This shows us that she was attempting to dress up for something a little, and the small smile that kept creeping across her face made it evident she was waiting for something exciting.

Even if you're not focusing on the eyes, the face can give away everything if you look in the right spots.

Guinevere sat at the desk in The Library in her favorite boots and skirt. She was waiting for something. She wouldn't say what, kidding herself that she knew what she was waiting for.

Spoiler alert: she had no idea what she was waiting for.

(But I did.)

She was thinking of her fathers and, almost unconsciously, she glanced furtively at her camera.

It had taken Nicholas and Christopher three weeks to haggle the seller into a fair transaction. With the Government issued ration cards that were untradeable (they were electronically linked with each person) and Government issued furniture that tended to be bolted to the floor of the housing (a stroke of genius if I do say so myself), there weren't many options of things to trade. Eventually, they worked it out and Nicholas agreed to clean the old man's apartment for the rest of his life. He didn't mind, it got him out of the house.

The job lasted two months.

I have the feeling the old man knew he was dying and wanted to make sure his camera would be in good hands.

How he had the camera, I don't know, but I let it be. He was harmless.

Guinevere? A little less so.

She hadn't done anything illegal, no, nothing of that sort, but she was... feisty. Curious.

All bad qualities in a person who lives in a society you're trying to control.

She did have her merits; she was an excellent Junior Librarian, and -- worse -- an even better person. She knew where every book in the Library was located, and she would help you find it with a smile.

She smiled -- smiles? -- then -- now? -- at the newcomer who had come into the Library. It was a surprise to see them (people seldom came to the Library), but it was a nice surprise.

"What can I help you with?" she asked kindly.

"I'm looking for a book please." The owner of the quiet voice was a young woman of about twenty six. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, looking at the floor.

"Aren't we all?" Guinevere laughed, and the girl glanced up, confusion flitting across her face. "It was a joke," she explained with a small, comforting smile. "Do you know what kind of book you're looking for, or are you just here to find a book?"

"I do, actually. I'm looking for a thesaurus. Maybe a dictionary. I'm trying to find a word, please."

"Of course." Guinevere stood up, carefully stepping around her desk and bag sitting on the floor. "I know just what you need. This way." And with a small beckoning of her hand, she led the girl to the section with the dictionaries.